The Good Samaritan
by deangirl1
Summary: When the unexpected happens, Dean and Sam must place their safety and their very lives in the hands of a stranger. Auction fic for Sylia91. Set Season 2 after Nightshifter.
1. By the Side of the Road

**Disclaimer:** I am playing with Kripke's creations. I own nothing – well I guess in this case I own Bob….

**Dedication:** This story is dedicated to **sylia91 **who won me in the auction organized by K H Korossy to raise money for a fellow writer and publisher. In the end due to sylia91's generosity and the generosity of a whole bunch of other authors and readers, the auction raised over 1600. We truly have a fandom to be proud of!

**A/N:** It took me a while to find the inspiration for this story. It is based very, very loosely on a true story which I will share at the end of the fic. It took me even longer to find the time amongst my real life to put pen to paper. So, sylia91 deserves huge thanks for being so patient in waiting for this. It was supposed to be finished for today, but I will be posting just the first part today. It will most likely be two or three parts in total… Takes place in Season 2 after _Nightshifter_.

* * *

"I need pie!" Dean craned his head around looking for their waitress.

"Dude. What's that right in front of you? You've been shovelling into your mouth for long enough to have recognized the taste. Of course, considering you don't even seem to chew it..." Sam said rolling his eyes.

"Fine. Kill joy. I need MORE pie. Really Sammy, you should have a piece. This is the best pie we've had in a long time," Dean enthused.

Sam couldn't help but smile. He was pretty sure that the taste of the pie was directly linked to his brother's good mood. Not that the pie wasn't making its own contribution... Sam frowned slightly – this was one of those chicken and egg problems – which came first, Dean's good mood or the good taste of the pie?

Sam decided in the end, that in this case at least, Dean's good mood came first.

They'd just finished a pretty tough case. They'd managed to avoid any serious injuries and save those involved – well, almost all of them – but not any thanks to Sam.

Sam sighed. They'd fought like cats and dogs over this hunt. In the end, Dean had been right.

Sam had been convinced that they were dealing with either a vengeful spirit or a poltergeist. He'd been leaning more toward the poltergeist because they really hadn't been able to dig up anything on any mysterious deaths connected to the house or family involved.

Dean had been adamant that they were dealing with a wraith.

In the end, they had gotten the family out of the house after the Grandmother had been attacked. She hadn't ever woken from the coma she'd slipped into.

They had returned to the house after leaving the family still hoping at the hospital. Sam had armed himself with salt and gris-gris bags. Dean had loaded his pockets with a number of things, including a sharpie. He'd brought his sawed-off full of salt though, too.

As soon as the wraith attacked it was obvious that that was what it was. Sam had been busy sticking gris-gris bags in the holes he had punched in the walls of the house. Dean had been busy with his sharpie.

Sam managed to hold off the wraith and make his way back to Dean and his art project by using his own sawed off.

Dean had drawn sigils all around the living room. He was now standing in the centre of a salt circle. Sam quickly jumped into it.

"Bend down a minute there Sasquatch," Dean said cupping his hand at the back of Sam's head. Before Sam could stop him, Dean had his sharpie up and was drawing on Sam's forehead.

"What the hell, Dean," Sam yelped and tried to pull out of his brother's iron grip.

"Stay still, would ya? This is a protection sigil. It'll hold it off till I can banish it."

"I don't see you with one on your forehead!" Sam protested.

"That's cuz I did mine on my arm before we left the motel cuz I knew it was a wraith," Dean said smugly.

Of course, at that moment, the wraith made an appearance and Sam decided to let the matter drop.

When the wraith realized it couldn't get to the brothers because of the salt or touch the brothers directly because of their sigils, it decided to stir up a supernatural wind and started flinging the furniture around the room.

Sam tried to distract the wraith with the salt filled shotguns while Dean made his way through the ritual to banish it.

When it realized what Dean was doing, the wraith did try to escape, but the sigils Dean had written on the walls trapped it in the room. Of course that meant that the closer Dean got to completing the ritual the more desperate the wraith became.

In the end, they'd both been sporting some bruises from the flying furniture, and the house was pretty much trashed, but at least it was wraith-free and safe for the family to return to.

Sam rubbed absently at the chafed spot on his forehead. The damn sharpie wasn't just bragging when it said it was a permanent marker. Sam had scrubbed his forehead at least 20 times and the damn sigil was still there. He'd never been more glad to have bangs to hide it.

"Sammy?" Sam shook himself back to the present and smiled lopsidedly at his brother.

"Zone much?" Dean quickly masked the concern that Sam saw flicker across his brother's face. "Do you have a headache? You want some pie now? Marsha says the blueberry is just as good as the cherry."

"No, Dean. No headache, and I still don't want pie. Thanks anyway," Sam added looking up at their waitress who had apparently materialized out of thin air while Sam was lost in his thoughts.

Sam smiled at Marsha as she refilled his coffee cup. Dean's constant flirting might be irritating, but it did insure that they always got the best service wherever they ate. And Dean was an equal opportunity flirter when it came to their food. Sam had been a little shocked the first time he'd seen Dean turn on the charm for a _male_ server. He'd never done _that _before Sam went away to school – probably because he would never do something like that in front of Dad. Dean had just laughed and shrugged it off, saying it was a waste not to use a God-given talent. Sam couldn't help but feel bad for the server who had even less of a chance than most of their middle aged waitresses.

"Thanks Marsha," Dean added a lazy blink to his trademark smile.

In true smitten-waitress fashion, Marsha giggled as she scurried off to get Dean's second piece of pie.

"So. Did you dig us up a hunt yet?" Dean was all business again.

"Not really," Sam shrugged and rustled the papers in front of him. "There might be something a couple of town's north of here."

"Ok. Well, we'll just keep heading in that direction then," Dean suggested.

They'd left the town where they'd taken care of the wraith that morning, taking their time as they really hadn't gotten a solid lead on a new hunt. As always after a hunt, Dean's most effective way of unwinding was to let the Impala get some miles under her tires, preferably windows down (weather permitting) and stereo blasting the best of mullet-rock.

They'd been travelling for about a half hour when they happened upon a car broken down by the side of the road. There was a kid in his early twenties standing by the car with its hood up, obviously out of his element. The highway they were on wasn't particularly well travelled. It was pretty much between two little nowhere towns. There were other vehicles on the road, but nobody had stopped so far, apparently.

"Kid should have a cell phone if he's gonna be driving a hunk of crap like that," Dean muttered even as he started to slow down. Sam was already pulling out his cell.

"Wouldn't do him any good. No reception," Sam supplied, re-pocketing his phone.

Dean swung out of the car as soon as it had crunched to a stop on the gravel shoulder.

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked approaching the kid.

"Just stopped running," he supplied leaning in under the hood, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the hood the other braced in front of him.

Sam was leaning on his side of the Impala. Not much point in him joining the other two as his knowledge of cars was owed entirely to his brother and father. With the two of them in the family, it had just seemed redundant to spend a lot of time on the subject – they liked it, and they were good at it.

Sam had pulled out their Dad's journal and was absently flipping through it, so he wasn't watching and didn't see it, but he sure as hell heard the hood slam down onto his brother's back and head.

"WHAT THE HELL?" Sam was shouting as he pushed off the Impala to go to his brother's aid, but he never made it that far as two more guys came surging out of the ditch.

They grabbed Sam and used his own momentum to throw him into the reasonable substantial ditch beside the shoulder. He did see the original kid lift the hood of the car enough to pull an obviously dazed Dean out from underneath the hood and fling him to the ground. And then Sam was too busy trying to figure out which way was up as he tumbled haphazardly into the ditch, landing with an oompf on several very large rocks. He saw stars as his head made contact with one of them.

He must have been stunned for a minute because suddenly he could hear his brother shouting.

"Get the HELL away from my fucking car, you sonuvabitch!"

Sam got his feet back to the down position as quickly as he could.

_Shit, shit, shit!_ He had to get to his brother.

Sam heard two engines start.

_No, no, no, no, no_, was all that Sam could think. _Not the car. Please, not the car._

Sam's worst fears were confirmed as he crested the lip of the ditch. The bastards were trying to steal the Impala.

It had all been a set up.

"Dean!" Sam tried to call his brother off, even as he knew it was futile.

He watched helplessly as Dean flung himself in the driver's window grabbing at the wheel and throwing punches at the bastard currently attempting to steal his car. Unfortunately, the guy behind the wheel had all of the Impala's power at his disposal and he also had a passenger who was liberally pounding Dean. Dean was still tenaciously hanging on as the Impala fishtailed through the gravel as the thief made for the tarmac. The broken down car was already heading down the road.

Dean finally lost his battle just as the Impala hit the pavement, a combination of the punches from the guy riding shotgun and the violent swerving of the car serving to dislodge him.

Sam was powerless to stop his brother's headlong flight as he was flung off the car to bounce and slide through the gravel shoulder to come to a bone jarring stop just shy of tumbling into the ditch that Sam had just crawled out of.

As soon as Dean stopped tumbling, he was utterly and completely still.

_Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God._ Sam's brain seemed to be on permanent stutter... and then he was scrambling across the space that separated him from his brother, even as he watched the only home he'd ever really known disappear down the road with a stranger at the wheel.

Sam unintentionally sprayed his brother with more gravel as he slid in next to him. His brother looked like a rag doll someone had just dropped haphazardly on the ground – limbs all pointing at impossible angles. His face was already a mass of bruises and scrapes. Blood covered the back of Dean's head – a side effect to having the hood of the car banged off of it.

Sam quickly and efficiently catalogued Dean's injuries. He carefully felt along each of Dean's arms and legs, straightening each as he ruled out any serious breaks.

Dean's breathing was rapid and shallow, but Sam couldn't find any evidence that he'd punctured a lung, though there were certainly some broken, cracked and bruised ribs.

Sam slid himself under his brother pulling his head into his lap after ascertaining there didn't seem to be any trauma to his spinal cord or neck.

Sam gently patted Dean's check, wincing as his hand came away sticky with his brother's blood.

"Dean? Bro? Can you hear me? Open your eyes for me, man." Sam pleaded.

True to form, Dean couldn't deny his baby brother anything and his eyelids fluttered until Sam was rewarded with slits of green staring at him blearily, trying their best to focus on the worried face hovering over him.

Dean's attempt to speak came out as a groan.

"It's ok, Dean. Don't try to talk. But stay with me ok? Stay awake?"

"You... 'k?" Dean slurred.

Sam huffed. He'd known that would be Dean's first concern.

"Yeah. Barely a scratch," Sam couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Hmmm. 'S good." Dean's mouth twitched as he tried to smile, his eyelids starting to flutter closed.

"C'mon, Dean. You said you'd try to stay awake," Sam patted Dean's cheek lightly.

Dean groaned. "Don't ... member saying ... that."

"You did. You promised," Sam wasn't above lying when it came to his brother's safety. He needed to keep him awake.

"Liar." There was no heat in Dean's voice and the half smile tugged at his lips again. Sam couldn't help but smile back. Nobody would ever know him half so well as Dean.

"My car?" Dean suddenly struggled as if trying to rise.

"Dean! Stay still. It's too late. I'm so sorry. They took her," Sam said softly, hating having to tell his brother that.

Dean went limp. Sam thought he might have passed out, but he had just completely stopped struggling.

Sam rested the palm of his large hand gently on Dean's chest. It was meant to comfort the both of them. Sam tried to gather his thoughts.

What the hell was he going to do? They were stranded in the middle of nowhere. Dean was badly hurt. They had no means of escape. They couldn't go to the police to get the car back. Hell. They couldn't even go to the hospital.

Sam's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tires crunching in the gravel shoulder. He looked up startled, only just realizing that he had been hearing the sounds of other cars. That had simply passed by. While the car was stolen. While he sat on the side of the road with his badly injured brother. No one wanting to get involved.

A blue SUV crunched to a halt about 6 feet from where the two brothers were. A man of average build with short slightly greying hair, dressed casually, jumped out.

"Are you boys ok? What happened? Do you need help?" He walked quickly over to them and crouched beside Sam. He gave Sam a penetrating look and then shifted his focus to Dean, drawing his breath in, in a hiss. Dean was unconscious again.

"We had our car stolen. My brother got pretty badly hurt trying to stop them." Sam's voice wavered.

"There's no cell reception out here," the man was obviously a local. "Look. I live just up the road. Do you want me to go and call the police and an ambulance for you?"

"NO!" Sam shouted before he could stop himself.

The man recoiled slightly and looked at Sam open mouthed.

"I'm sorry. Please. Don't call anyone. Maybe you could just give us a lift to the nearest motel?" Sam tried his best to put on his best puppy-eyes, but he knew it was falling flat.

"You're the fellows that have that big black Impala, aren't you?" Recognition crossed the man's face.

"How..." Sam was uneasy that this man seemed to know who they were.

"Sorry. Small towns. And that's a hell of a nice car," the man smiled, trying his best to put Sam at ease.

"Look, son. I'm no threat to you. Your brother is badly hurt, and the nearest motel is farther than the nearest clinic. The hospital would be a bit farther yet. I think you should let me help you. I won't call anyone you don't want me to."

The man's face was so sincere and Sam wanted so badly to be able to trust him. His gut reaction was to trust him. To let someone else help them for a change.

"Ok. I promise we aren't a threat to you either. Our situation is just a bit ... complicated at the moment."

"Alrighty then. Let's get your brother in my car and back to my place," the man smiled encouragingly at Sam.

"My name is Sam, and this is my brother, Dean," Sam offered, still somehow not believing he was about to entrust both their lives to this complete stranger.

"My name is Bob," he reached out and lightly gripped Sam's shoulder by way of greeting.

_So not a stranger exactly anymore_, Sam thought disjointedly to himself.

"It's nice to meet you Sam, though I can think of better circumstances. You ready to get Dean out of here now?"

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**A/N2:** So? Please leave a review? They are like chocolate – which I haven't had in months…. They also guilt/spur me into writing faster….


	2. Safe Haven?

**Disclaimer:** I am playing with Kripke's creations. I own nothing – well I guess in this case I own Bob….

**Dedication:** This story is dedicated to **sylia91 **who won me in the auction organized by K H Korossy to raise money for a fellow writer and publisher. In the end due to sylia91's generosity and the generosity of a whole bunch of other authors and readers, the auction raised over 1600. We truly have a fandom to be proud of!

**A/N:** It took me a while to find the inspiration for this story. It is based very, very loosely on a true story which I will share at the end of the fic. It took me even longer to find the time amongst my real life to put pen to paper. So, sylia91 deserves huge thanks for being so patient in waiting for this. Takes place in Season 2 after _Nightshifter_.

* * *

"It's nice to meet you Sam, though I can think of better circumstances. You ready to get Dean out of here now?" Bob smiled at Sam and rose to his feet.

"Definitely," Sam acquiesced.

"Ok. Hang on two minutes. I've got an emergency kit in the car. We should probably do a little triage before moving your brother." Bob moved quickly to his SUV and returned with the kit.

Bob crouched down beside the two brothers again, opening the kit and retrieving some pre-packaged antiseptic wipes. Bob ripped one open and moved to wipe Dean's face.

Sam instinctively drew in a breath and clutched Dean a little closer to himself.

Bob paused. He sought and held Sam's eyes with his own.

"I only want to help, Sam," he reassured.

Sam smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry," he said quietly. "It's just that it's been _just _us for a long time."

"I understand, son," Bob said quietly. He waited until he saw Sam's body relax in permission and then reached forward to gently wipe the worst of the dirt and grime from Dean's face, the better to assessed the damage.

Dean had a cut above his right eye and would be lucky if the eye didn't swell completely shut. He'd been a sitting duck as a punching bag as he clung to the driver, trying to stop them from taking the Impala. He also had a split lip and various other bruises, but he'd been lucky that his face had managed to escape a lot of damage when he was flung through the gravel.

Dean was disturbingly still throughout Bob's gentle cleaning of his face. Bob repeated Sam's previous check of Dean's extremeties. He determined that Dean probably had a nasty sprain of his left wrist and some damage to his ribs. In general, Dean's torso had faired reasonably well because he was wearing his leather jacket. Dean's jeans hadn't provided the same level of protection for his legs, however. There was blood soaking the waistband of his jeans near his right hip and the knees of his jeans were completely shot, revealing bloody knees beneath.

Bob determined that the injuries could wait until they had Dean back at his house. He was concerned that the young man had stayed so unresponsive, however. The obvious beating his face had taken didn't really explain it, so Bob moved his examination back to Dean's head. Sam had propped his brother up to lie against him slightly.

"Sam?" Bob refocused Sam's attention on him. Bob noticed that there was a trickle of blood just showing under Sam's bangs. "Are you ok? Were you hurt?"

"Uhn? No. Well. I bumped my head. They threw me in the ditch. But I'm ok. No big deal."

"Ok," Bob wasn't convinced. "Is it possible that Dean banged the back of his head?"

"Oh shit!" Sam's memory came crashing in. "That asshole we stopped for pulled the hood of the car down on top of him!"

Sam immediately pushed Dean forward off of himself. Only then discovering that the warmth that had been comforting him was actually his brother's blood. The back of Dean's head was matted with blood, and it was still seeping.

Bob immediately reached forward to examine the wound. As soon as he touched it, Dean gasped and his eyes flew open. The best defensive posture he could muster was to scoot back into Sam.

"It's ok, son," Bob soothed holding both hands out in a non-aggressive gesture. "I just want to help."

"It's ok, Dean," Sam jumped in simultaneously, clutching his brother to him as gently as possible, both to steady him and for reassurance. "It's ok, Bob's ok."

"Huh," Dean managed to grunt out in obvious pain. He tossed his head around, eyes rolling.

Bob attempted to touch Dean's leg to steady him, but it just seemed to agitate him further.

"My car! Where's my damn car?" Dean demanded suddenly, increasing his struggles against his brother.

"Dean! Calm down, would you? You're hurt," Sam urged.

"Sammy! Where's my car?" Dean shoved his brother with strength he shouldn't have had at that moment, pushing away from him in his increasing panic.

"Dean," Sam pleaded.

"MY CAR! They took her, didn't they? Sonuvabitch," Dean spat out as realization crashed back into him.

Bob was relieved that Dean's short term memory seemed ok, but the agitation could also be a sign of severe concussion.

"Son, listen to your brother. You're hurt. Stay down," Bob's voice urged.

"Have to get my baby," Dean muttered. He finally succeeded in pushing himself fully off of Sam, and before Sam could stop him, he'd shoved to his feet.

Sam and Bob watched stunned as Dean swayed on his feet. Dean's breath came in wheezing shallow pants, interspersed with pained grunts. Dean looked a little like a Florida palm tree in a hurricane – of course, given Dean's hatred of that state, Sam would never share that particular simile with him.

Sam quickly rose to his own feet and had to take a deep breath himself as the world spun around him. Bob's gaze darted between the brothers, not sure who was going to stay standing and who was going down for the count.

Dean seemed to have gained some equilibrium and started to stagger off in the direction that he had last seen his car. Sam felt the world come back into balance and realized that while he did have a pretty significant headache, the dizziness had just been a momentary head rush.

"Dean!" Sam tried to stop his brother's pursuit. "Dean. Stop. Dude," catching up to his brother Sam caught Dean's arm both to halt him and to steady him.

Dean swung around to his brother and the look of devastation on his face just about broke Sam's heart.

"They took my baby, Sammy," Dean whispered as his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed to the ground again.

"Shit! Dean!" Sam managed to break Dean's fall by pulling him to him as he fell. Luckily, Bob had followed the brothers and helped to catch some of Dean's weight.

"Shall we try this again?" Bob caught Sam's eye.

"Yeah. Let's get out of here if you don't mind," Sam responded. He was worried that a cop could come along and would want to know what they were doing on the side of the road.

"That wound on the back of his head worries me a bit. It really needs stitches…." Bob trailed off.

"We have a first aid…aw, shit," Sam realized that all of their belongings had left along with the Impala. Their weapons, their clothes, the few keepsakes they had, Sam's laptop, and of course, the first aid kit.

"I have a towel you can keep pressed to the wound to stop the bleeding, but your brother really does need professional help," Bob urged.

"Funny. I keep telling him he needs professional help," Sam said with a lopsided smile. Bob returned the smile.

"It's a really long story, but we just can't. We aren't the bad guys, Bob. We really aren't," Sam said earnestly, capturing and holding Bob's eyes with his own, willing the stranger to see past what looked bad on the surface.

"Son, I'm not here to judge you. I want to help. Someone helped my wife once, and well, I want to return the favour. Let's get your brother to my place. At least it's warm there, and we can get a better sense of what he needs."

Between the two of them, they managed to lift Dean as gently as possible and manoeuvre him into the back seat of Bob's SUV. Dean remained steadfastly unconscious. Just as Sam was about to climb in with his brother, he spotted John's journal where he'd dropped it when he first tried to go to his brother's aid. Sam quickly retrieved it and climbed in, settling Dean's head on his lap. They'd placed Dean on his side, so Sam could press the towel to the back of his head. Sam's other hand rested lightly on Dean's chest to steady him on the seat. The steady thump of Dean's heart against his hand helped Sam to ground himself.

Bob's house was no more than ten minutes down the first dirt road they came to. It had a long driveway flanked by trees and pastures with a few horses. The house was neat and modest and considering the horses, it wasn't a surprise to see a large barn behind the house.

The SUV crunched to a halt on the gravel driveway as close to the front door as Bob could get. He jumped out and immediately came and opened the back door.

"Should you tell your wife before we come in?" Sam suggested.

"No need," Bob responded, quickly glancing down at Dean. "She's actually away this week. Girls' week away." He smiled fondly as he looked back up at Sam. "Let's get your brother in and settled."

As Sam was slipping out from under Dean, Dean moaned and his eyelashes fluttered as he attempted to resurface into the land of the conscious.

"Easy, there big brother," Sam soothed. He knew what Dean could be like if he was waking up and was disoriented. Sam gently restrained his brother with the hand on his chest. He could clearly feel the increase in the heartbeat under it.

Dean grunted as he fought the restraint and the darkness.

"Smy?" Dean slurred as he forced his eyes open. He closed them again almost immediately as the bright light of day assaulted his senses.

"Right here Dean."

"K?"

"Yeah, Dean. I'm ok." There was never any doubt in Sam's mind about what his brother's first words would be, and he was pretty sure he knew what was coming next.

"Where?"

"Bob's house. He's going to let us get cleaned up here and come up with a plan."

"B…..b?" Dean managed. Sam had obviously overloaded Dean with information.

"Hey Dean. We met on the highway," Bob peered in to make eye contact with the fallen hunter.

"Highway?" Dean was obviously disoriented now though he had appeared fine earlier. Also not uncommon with concussions. At least not uncommon with a _severe_ concussion.

"Just relax, Dean," Sam soothed. He'd been through this with his brother too many times. He'd seen Dean do this before with a particularly nasty concussion. After seeming not too bad after the initial accident, Dean had deteriorated. Sam knew that was what was happening now. He looked earnestly at Bob, trying to convey that fact with just his eyes. Bob raised his eyebrows in response but seemed to understand.

"Let's get him inside," Bob urged. The day had turned cool and cloudy, even though Dean's concussed brain's eyes thought it searingly bright.

Dean's eyes were fluttering closed again, and Sam knew that was not a good thing.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam gently slapped Dean's cheek and was rewarded with an annoyed grunt and accusing eyes. Well, the annoyed slit of one eye.

"You gotta try to stay awake for me. You know the drill."

Again, Sam got an annoyed grunt. He wasn't sure if the annoyance was from the order itself or whether it was from the fact that Dean knew all this.

Together they managed to get Dean out of the car and wedged between them. Dean tried to help, to be a little less than dead weight, but it was taking all his concentration just trying to stay awake.

Dean's head rolled on his shoulders as he tried to scan his surroundings – a habit that was just ingrained in the hunter: always know the territory.

Dean frowned. Something was missing. He focused on the vehicle he'd just exited. Wrong colour. Wrong make. Wrong model.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was barely a whisper.

"Yeah?" Sam was right there.

"That's not the Impala," Dean stated the obvious in a barely audible whisper.

"No. it's not," Sam responded quietly, giving his brother's shoulder a quick squeeze and pat. "Let's get you inside."  
Sam knew that he could manipulate and distract his brother when he was vulnerable like this. He didn't want to see that look in his brother's eyes. His baby was so much more than a car to Dean.

And Sam wasn't fooling himself. The car meant the world to him too. The car was his dad and Dean and safety and _home_. It's why Sam hadn't tried too hard to convince Dean that she was a liability when it came to staying under the radar. He'd just gotten the new plates and surprised Dean with them. The old plates were still in the trunk though.

Bob watched the boys' exchange in silence. He was supporting one side of Dean while Sam guided from the other. The three of them staggered up to the porch and Bob propped Dean completely against Sam while he fished out his keys and opened the door.

It was a typical old farmhouse. Neat and functional with lots of windows to let in the natural light. The door opened onto a living room, which Bob moved them through past the kitchen and what looked like a small office to a small main floor bedroom.

They gently laid Dean down on the single bed. He groaned and his eyes fluttered shut, but Sam could tell by his breathing that he was still awake. Dean was carefully controlling his pain through his breathing, something else that experience had taught Sam about his brother. Too much experience. It was one thing to get hurt in the course of their job, but to get hurt because of some slime bags that they'd tried to help….

Dean cracked an eye and fixed it on which of the several figures in front of him he thought was his brother.

"Smy? You 'k?" Dean slurred. Even concussed Dean was also in tune with the sound of his brother's breathing, and Sam sounded like he was a kettle about to boil over.

Sam huffed and grinned despite himself.

"Yeah, I'm fine. But if I catch up with those bastards..."

Dean snorted softly back, but didn't even attempt to reply.

"Sam? I'm just going to gather the medical supplies I have," Bob's soft voice interrupted. "It's really not much I'm afraid…"  
"I'm sure we can make it do," Sam smiled his gratitude.

"There are plenty of clean towels in the bathroom and a basin that you can use to bring hot water in here with,' Bob indicated a small powder room.

"Thanks Bob. I don't know how we can ever repay you."  
"No need, Sam. I'm happy to help. I really am," Bob insisted and left the room.

Sam turned to the daunting task of getting his brother out of his clothes so that he could assess, clean, and treat his numerous injuries.

"Dean?" Sam murmured. "I need to get your clothes off."  
"There is no universe in which that sounds right, Sammy." Dean muttered back without really opening his eyes. He did raise his arms slightly in Sam's direction, however.

Smiling again, despite the situation, Sam grabbed his brother's arms and lifted him as gently as he could to a sitting position.

The change in altitude had Dean panting through the pain. It seemed to be assaulting him from every direction. And suddenly, Dean knew that he'd lost the battle with nausea as saliva flooded his mouth.

Sam had been waiting for this. Dean's concussion symptoms generally followed a consistent path. His brother almost invariably threw up from the vertigo induced nausea. Sam grabbed a trash can that he found in a corner and got it to his brother just in time as Dean doubled over and lost the entire contents of his stomach.

Sam steadied his brother as he continued to dry heave. Dean's breath hitched in between each heave as his body protested this latest assault. Gradually he stilled and panted shallowly.

"Ok, Dean?" Sam inquired gently.

"Peachy," Dean managed to croak out.

"Let's get you more comfortable then."

"I hope that means you're just gonna shoot me," Dean muttered, letting Sam more or less support his body and letting his eyes slide shut – the better to keep the skull piercing light beams out.

Grimacing, Sam tried to focus on the task at hand. He slipped Dean's leather jacket off. Dean's flannel went with the jacket. Sam debated about the T. He hated to cut it off; they had so few clothes to begin with and Dean particularly liked this one.

"Help me get it off," Dean sensed Sam's predicament and made the decision for him.

Starting at the hem, Sam rolled the T-shirt up Dean's body, slowly revealing the damage to his torso. Helping, basically meant that Sam rolled the shirt up and off while Dean grit his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and attempted to remain conscious. He was bruised from being flung off the car, but the worst damage had been done when the hood of the car had crashed down on him, sandwiching him between the hood and the engine. There was deep bruising on Dean's abdomen. Sam could feel the damage to his brother's ribs. At least one was broken and several others bruised or cracked. None seemed to have punctured a lung or any other vital organ, however, and Sam was thankful for that. The worst though was Dean's back. The welts from the hood of the car were already standing out blackly against his pale skin. He had to be in agony.

Sam sighed. His brother was going to have a hell of a time finding any body part to lie on….

Sam propped up all the pillows behind his brother and then Sam stepped quickly into the small bathroom and grabbed a couple of towels. He spread one on the pillows and guided Dean back to lie on them. Dean's seeping head wound had already left one blood stain on the bed.

"Ok, bro. Not something I really ever like saying to you, but I've got to take your jeans off. Well, what's left of them anyway," Sam tried to keep his tone light as he surveyed Dean's ruined jeans and worried about what he would find under them. He made short work of removing Dean's boots.

Dean just grunted this time in response to Sam's comments about his jeans.

"Hey! Hey, Dean. Stay awake, ok?" Sam didn't want Dean slipping back to sleep. His concussion was obviously pretty bad and the longer Sam was able to keep him awake the better Sam would feel, especially without professional medical help hovering around.

"'M wake. Trying not to notice what you're about to do…" came Dean's quiet snark.

Sam huffed and reached for the button and zipper on Dean's jeans. Dean's hands batted him away. Flicking his eyes to Dean's face, Sam was met by glassy green slits.

"Can do that," Dean breathed as he undid the button and zip. He tried to slip his thumbs under the waistband to push the jeans down, but stopped quickly, hissing in pain. His left wrist was throbbing and sending waves off pain up his arm, but what was much worse was that his jeans seemed to be stuck to his right hip.

Sam saw the problem and reached for Dean's hands to stop him, gently shifting his hands out of the way. Sam again strode quickly into the bathroom. This time he soaked a towel in hot water, wrung it out, and returned to the bed. He laid the towel on Dean's hip.

"That should loosen it enough to get it off."

After ten minutes, Sam was able to peel the now bloody AND soggy jeans down. Dean's hip was a mess. It looked like hamburger. There was no way they'd be able to stitch it. Somehow there were bits of gravel in it too. Sam quickly pulled the jeans down and off, leaving Dean at least the dignity of his boxers. Dean's knees looked as bad as hip, possibly worse with more gravel. There were raw patches on both of Dean's thighs and bruising starting everywhere.

Dean was starting to shiver. It wasn't really that cold in the farmhouse, and Sam began to suspect the early onset of shock. Understandable in the circumstances. Sam managed to get the sheets and blankets thrown over Dean for the moment.

"I'm going to go and see what Bob's found in the way of supplies, ok?" Sam said to Dean's now closed eyelids. Those eyelids immediately fluttered open. And Dean grunted in acknowledgement, raising his chin slightly at his brother.

Sam wandered into the hallway, looking both ways. He heard the dull sound of a quiet voice coming from behind the closed door of the office. Sam didn't expect the first aid supplies to be in there. He moved cautiously up to the door. It was unmistakably Bob's voice.

"I really need you to just get here as quickly as you can. I don't know what these guys are into, but I need your help."

That was all Sam needed to hear. He pushed the door open with a bang as it hit the wall, and Bob wheeled to face him, phone held up to his ear.

"Hang up." Sam didn't have a weapon on him, but his voice contained his deadly intent.

"Please hurry," Bob said before he hung up. His eyes never left Sam's as Sam stalked into the room.

"Sam. It's not what you think…" Bob began.

Sam wasn't listening. He was looking at the gun on the table in front of Bob.

"We trusted you!" Sam raised his voice. He knew it was childish. He'd been in the world long enough to learn not to trust. To learn not to expect to be able to trust. One of his father's most basic rules was never to trust. Granted Dean had been more adept at learning that one than Sam, but Sam had tried to learn it. And yet, he'd still _wanted_ to trust this man. And he'd betrayed him. More importantly, though, he'd put Dean in danger.

"Sam! Just calm down and let me explain!" Bob's voice kicked up a notch and he reached for the gun on the table.

"Touch that gun and it'll be the last thing you do," Dean ground out from the doorway. He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, clad only in his boxers and socks. He held his favourite colt 1911 in his right hand, and it was aimed at Bob. Granted Dean was squinting through one eye and his hand was shaking, but even Bob realized that at that distance, there was no way this man would miss.

* * *

**A/N2:** I'm so sorry for the long wait, and I have a bad feeling about this chapter maybe being a little disappointing. The boys are telling me that the story probably has to be at least 4 chapters, so I guess I will have to listen to them…. Please expect updates at about this time frame…hides

**A/N2a:** There is a little shout out in here to PADavis…and her favourite state...


	3. If Wishes Were Horses

**Disclaimer:** I am playing with Kripke's creations. I own nothing – well I guess in this case I own Bob…. And I know Tara. No money being made here, no infringement intended.

**Dedication:** This story is dedicated to **sylia91 **who won me in the auction organized by K H Korossy to raise money for a fellow writer and publisher. In the end due to sylia91's generosity and the generosity of a whole bunch of other authors and readers, the auction raised over $1600. We truly have a fandom to be proud of!

**A/N:** It took me a while to find the inspiration for this story. It is based very, very loosely on a true story which I will share at the end of the fic. sylia91 deserves huge thanks for being so patient in waiting for this. Takes place in Season 2 after _Nightshifter_.

**A/N2:** At this point, I'm not even expecting anyone to still be reading… I was trying to wait to find time to answer reviews before posting this. My life is such a mess right now, that it will be another 3 months before I get to that. So at the prompting of one very patient reader I am posting this warts and all. My sincerest thank you to those who have reviewed in the past. They were much appreciated.

* * *

"_Sam! Just calm down and let me explain!" Bob's voice kicked up a notch and he reached for the gun on the table._

_"Touch that gun and it'll be the last thing you do," Dean ground out from the doorway. He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, clad only in his boxers and socks. He held his favourite colt 1911 in his right hand, and it was aimed at Bob. Granted Dean was squinting through one eye and his hand was shaking, but even Bob realized that at that distance, there was no way this man would miss._

Both of Bob's hands shot up like the gun in front of him was on fire. His hands went up so quickly that Dean might have found it comical if he didn't think he was about to face plant it. He tried not to focus on the fact that if he moved away from the door frame he was definitely going down. He tried not to focus on the blood that he could feel running down his leg from the injury on his hip. He tried not to focus on the fact that his entire body _ached_. He did try to focus on actually seeing the room in front of him. Problem was the light show. First things would tunnel down so that Bob was at the end of the tunnel and Sammy would disappear. Then there were the bright exploding fireworks. And when he could see the whole room, it was like looking under water. He went back to not focussing on how much he wanted to throw up again.

"Sam," Dean's voice sounded like the gravel he'd lately been flung through. He might have saved his breath because his brother was already moving to scoop the gun up off the desk.

"It isn't loaded," Bob stated. His voice was remarkably calm. "I got it out for you."

"Yeah. We got that." Sam said, his voice hard, hiding his disappointment.

"No. No. Not like that," Bob actually smiled. "I got it out for you to _use_. You didn't say what _kind_ of trouble, but you said you were in trouble, so I thought you might need it. I've never used the damn thing. We only have it in the house because it was my wife's father's, and she inherited it when he died."

As Bob spoke, Sam examined the gun. It was old and had seen better days. Sam actually doubted the thing would even fire. It obviously hadn't been kept in working order. He glanced back at this brother. A slight shrug and raise of an eyebrow was enough for Sam to guardedly confirm Bob's story for his brother.

"Who was on the phone?" Dean's voice was hard and clipped; he bit off each word.

"Um, well," Bob looked embarrassed.

"Star 69'em, Sam."

Dean might have saved his breath as Sam was already moving to the phone. He hit the appropriate buttons.

"It's a clinic," Sam relayed the information, raising an eyebrow at Bob who was still pressed back in his seat, hands raised in the air.

"Who?" Dean pressed again.

"Did you call a doctor?" Sam asked, eyes searching Bob's face.

"Um. Well. Yes, actually. Well, kinda. Look," Bob turned from Sam to Dean, "You're hurt badly. You need some kind of help, and my little first aid kit is not going to be enough. Tara can help, and she won't say anything if I ask her not to. She's a good person."

"I'm sure she is," Sam interjected, "but there are rules that doctors have to follow…"

"Not this kind of doctor," Bob jumped in.

"What kind of doctor, we talking about here, Bob?" Dean was doing his best to keep up with the conversation, but it was getting increasingly difficult.

"Well, she's the best in this area," Bob hedged.

"Bob. Straight answer, please," Dean clipped.

"She's our vet. For the horses. 'Bout the only kind of doctor that'll make house calls – even around here," Bob smiled.

"Last time I checked, I wasn't a horse… though I guess you might have confused me with one…" Dean smirked as he looked down at his nearly naked body. Sam was amused by the fact that he could detect a slight blush rise to his brother's face even in the wake of his brash comment as Dean suddenly seemed to realize what he was _not_ wearing.

"You boys aren't used to accepting help from anyone, are you?" Bob asked quietly.

"Don't get much practice," Sam replied moving surreptitiously to his brother's side.

Dean had lowered his gun and was leaning all of his weight against the doorframe. It was increasingly obvious to Sam that Dean wasn't going to remain upright for much longer. As he neared his brother, Sam watched him blink. Sam could see Dean try to clear the fog that was settling on his mind and was preventing him from focussing. Dean had started to sway slightly, even against the wall.

"Dean," Sam breathed so as not to startle his brother and slowly reached one hand out to Dean's right shoulder to steady his brother. As soon as he saw that Dean was okay with the initial contact, Sam moved in to support his brother. And just in time as Dean's eyes fluttered closed and he started to crumple to the floor.

Bob stood up and crossed the floor to come up on the other side of Dean as Sam pulled him away from the door frame. Sam stiffened, and Bob stopped. He held both his hands out to the side.

"Please trust me, Sam. I'm not the bad guy here, either." Bob pleaded.

Sam shrugged. He didn't have any choice. If Bob had turned them in, they were already screwed anyway. He let Bob help him get Dean back to the bedroom. Dean was in and out of it, but definitely came fully aware when they reached the bedroom again.

"Bathroom," Dean managed to force out.

All three of them couldn't fit in the tiny bathroom, so Bob let go of Dean at the door, and between the counter and Sam, Dean was able to keep upright enough to make it to the toilet to throw up again.

Sam turned his head away, but kept a hold on his brother. The last thing he wanted to do was force Dean onto his already injured knees on the hard tile floor. When Dean was through dry heaving, Sam helped him from the room. Bob re-took his position on Dean's other side.

"Sorry Sammy," Dean mumbled, struggling to stay conscious.

"You so owe me," Sam tried to keep his tone teasing.

"Payback for all the times that I've held your girly hair out of the way," Dean teased back.

Dean couldn't hold back a small groan as they lowered him back to the bed.

"Take it easy, ok?" Sam said sinking down beside his brother and resting a hand briefly on his chest.

Bob cleared his throat.

"Tara will be here any minute. She'll go away again if I just tell her it's a false alarm, but I meant what I said. You'll like her, and she won't say anything once I ask her not to. She's good people, and the best damn vet in the area."

Sam looked up at Bob through the hair falling over his eyes. Bob was struck by how world weary both these young men seemed to be.

"So you've already said. We have no choice but to trust you," Sam stated. Dean needed more help than they could give, and if Bob had already spilled the beans, they were screwed anyway.

As Sam reached for the cloth he had used earlier, the sound of a vehicle could be heard pulling into the drive. Sam carefully started to wipe off the blood that had trailed down Dean's legs from his hip and knee wounds.

"What do you want me to do Sam?" Bob asked quietly.

"Let her in." Sam sighed.

Bob turned to leave.

"You aren't afraid for your friend?" Sam asked suddenly before Bob left the room.

"No. Should I be?" Bob looked back over his shoulder and smiled at Sam.

"We won't do anything to harm her, but she could get into trouble for helping us. And I guess it's too late, but you could too," Sam said quietly.

"I'll take my chances," Bob said, slipping out.

"Why is he helping us?" Sam said quietly. He was startled when Dean answered him.

"I keep telling you bro, people are crazy."

"How're you doing? Up to seeing this vet of Bob's?"

"I'm fine. But do you seriously think that Bob would consider me to be much of a threat right now?" Dean regarded his brother blearily through one eye.

"I think you had him pretty worried when you showed up in his office," Sam smiled and shook his head. Only Dean could be threatening and scary even bloody, seriously concussed, and mostly naked.

Dean grunted and attempted to smirk, letting his eye flutter shut.

"Hey, hey," Sam gently patted Dean's chest. "Stay with me. You don't want to miss meeting your new doc."

Dean grunted in response.

Sam heard the door open. Funny he hadn't really heard Bob slip out. He could hear footsteps and Bob's voice.

"Thanks, Tara. They're just back here in the spare room."

Bob appeared in the doorway. He was laden down with what looked like two tool boxes and was followed by a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. She was wearing the blue overalls that seemed to be the uniform of a large animal vet. She had a baseball hat over her shoulder length brown hair. She would have been about 5'5" Sam guessed and had a muscular build, well suited to her chosen profession. Sam was struck by her quick smile which lit up her face, travelling easily to her pretty blue eyes. Definitely a farm girl, and definitely a smart one. She was also carrying what looked like two large tool boxes.

"This is Tara. Tara, this is Sam, and this is his brother Dean – your latest patient." Bob did the introductions, moving into the room and aside to let Tara in.

"Hi," Tara said as she moved into the room. She put her burdens down and moved toward Sam with an outstretched hand.

Sam stood up, towering over her and took her hand.

"Thanks so much for coming. I'm assuming that Bob's filled you in…?" Sam was struck by both the warmth and the strength of her handshake.

"More or less. You do understand that I'm not a people doctor, right? I'll do what I can, but I really think you'd be better off going to a hospital," Tara's eyes had slid towards Dean.

"Can't," Dean slurred. He was watching the exchange through his good eye. He found that if he squinted with just the one eye, the room didn't seem so sickeningly in motion.

"It's a long story, but my brother's right. We can't go to a hospital without there being further… um… complications," Sam explained. "You should know that you could be in trouble for helping us."

"Yeah. Bob did offer that much information once he got me here. But if Bob's ok with helping you, then I am too. I just wanted you to be aware of what you're getting into. You could get me in a lot of trouble if you reported me for malpractice," Tara smiled as she said it.

"It's a deal, then," Sam smiled. "We don't sue you; you don't sue us."

"M' bro, the lawyer," Dean slurred quietly from the bed.

She bent and opened one of the cases she'd brought in. She pulled out a pair of latex gloves and put them on.

"Well, let's see what we're dealing with," she said moving to the bed. Sam stepped out of her way, but hovered just over her shoulder.

"So, Dean, want to tell me where you're hurting?" Tara smiled as she looked down at him. Her eyes scanned the mostly naked body in front of her, but if she was surprised by either the injuries or the scars already decorating that body, she never let it show on her face.

Dean hated being the only person lying down in a room, so he attempted to scoot back and prop himself up on the pillows. Unfortunately, his body did not want to join the game plan, and he only managed to shift a bit before a groan managed to escape.

"Hey, hey, just lie still," Tara soothed. She looked at Bob and Sam, "Jeez, I thought this would be a dawdle compared to my usual patients, but he seems just as untalkative and a bit more skittish than my usual clientele!"

Bob chuckled, and Sam couldn't suppress a snort.

"Nice, now I really feel inadequate next to a horse," Dean muttered, and that truly had them all laughing, helping to break the remaining tension in the room.

"Ok, Dean, let's try that again. Where are you hurting?"

"Head. Ribs. Hip. Knees. Um… everywhere?" Dean was still struggling to focus. His brain seemed to be on stutter mode.

"Ok. I don't deal with a lot of head injuries in my practice, but I also do a lot of penning and riding, and concussions are a pretty common occurrence at a lot of those events. Let's say I just start at your head and work my way down?"

"Sure, doc. Whatever you say," Dean agreed, letting his eyes slide shut again. It was getting too hard to keep focused.

Tara began by examining the cut above Dean's right eye. Using a pen light, she noted the difference in reaction in the pupils, which were unnaturally blown. Bad concussion. She moved down from there, checking his neck and then the ribs. Gentle fingers easily found the ribs that were broken and cracked. Wincing herself, she examined the abrasions and bruising to Dean's abdomen but concluded it was unlikely that there were any internal injuries. She examined the wound to his hip, noting that there was debris that would have to be removed but that what was left of the skin wouldn't be stitchable. Dean's knees would need the same attention as his hip. She checked Dean's arms, noting the swelling of the left wrist, and his legs, noting that except for the cuts, abrasions, and bruises, they were intact.

"Sam? Can I get you to help your brother sit up so that I can check his back? I don't want to try rolling him on those ribs or that hip," Tara explained.

Sam moved quickly to his brother's side. Dean had faded to black as Tara examined him, so Sam placed a hand on his chest, pressing softly.

"Dean? I'm just going to lift you up, so Tara can get a good look at your back."

Dean grunted. It was an obvious sign to Sam of how badly hurt his brother was that he didn't come around more, more quickly, and more violently. Dean grunted again as Sam got him up and more or less leaning into him, chest to chest.

"See, Sammy? Chicks always want to see me from every angle," Dean muttered into his brother's shoulder.

Tara just snorted and chuckled.

"Oops. Did I say that with my outside voice?" Dean slurred.

Dean winced as her gentle touch somehow still managed to press a little too hard on the gash at the back of his head.

Tara moved from the lump and contusion on the back of his head to the deep bruising on his back. That was going to be sore for quite a while.

"That's good for now," she directed at Sam.

Sam eased Dean back to the bed.

"Well, looks like I've got my work cut out for me. Sam do you want to help? And Bob? How about some of your world class coffee?" Tara was used to taking charge, and both men did as they were instructed.

Tara carefully went through the supplies she had brought in, and with Sam's help, carefully laid out what she would need.

Dean, meanwhile, had finally succumbed to the lure of unconsciousness and fallen into a fitful sleep.

"I have some local anaesthetic that I can use, but I don't want to give your brother anything that will put him right out. It would be a really bad idea with his concussion. I expect he's going to feel nauseous and disoriented for a few days from it. It's a nasty one. I've also got the xray machine in my truck – you're just lucky that I was on my way to do a pre-purchase for another client. We only have the one mobile unit at the clinic, so it's your dumb luck that I had it today," Tara smiled up at Sam.

"Oh yeah," Sam returned, "that's us. Luck just follows us around." _It's just all bad_, he continued the thought.

Tara drew some clear liquid into a syringe and sat down beside Dean.

"Why don't you sit on the other side to steady him again, Sam. I'll need you to hold him forward so that I can stitch that gash on the back of his head. I'm just going to freeze the cut over his eye first. That should only take a couple of stitches." She paused to get Sam's agreement.

Sam nodded in understanding and moved to the other side of the bed.

"Dean," Sam said quietly, laying his hand on his brother's chest. "Dean, we need you to wake up for a second." Sam figured that the chances of Dean waking up quietly again were slim and that if Tara just gave Dean the needle or tried to wake him up, his brother's hunter instincts would be in full force. He really didn't want her to be on the receiving end of that.

Even knowing what was coming, Sam startled a bit and Tara jumped back off the bed when Dean's eyes flew open, or at least the left one, and he took a swing at his brother.

Sam easily dodged the slower than normal arc of his brother's fist, but it moved him enough that Dean was able to shoot up into a sitting position. The change in altitude did not agree with him.

Dean groaned and slumped forward, clutching his head and groaning louder at the abuse to his damaged ribs.

"What the hell, Sammy," he ground out.

"Tara's actually gonna freeze your head before she stitches you up, bro," Sam said as he placed a comforting and supporting hand on Dean's back. Sam was almost relieved to see Dean's "normal" responses back on line.

"Tara?" Dean squinted against the light that was drilling through his head.

"The doc who's going to fix you up," Sam said and frowned in worry at Tara. Sam moved so that he was in front of his brother and Dean could lean against his chest.

"Huh. 'K," Dean slurred.

Tara returned Sam's look of concern.

"Dean? I'm just going to freeze both your head wounds before I stitch them up," she explained.

Dean grunted an acknowledgement.

The vet tackled the larger head wound first, placing 15 neat stitches in the back of Dean's head before making short work of the three needed to close the cut over Dean's right eye.

Dean seemed a little more lucid and aware, recognizing Bob when he brought the coffee in. In fact, the coffee had Dean almost perking right up.

Sam insisted that Dean settle for a few sips of the water that Bob had thought to bring for the patient.

"Let's get these sores cleaned up before I xray that wrist," Tara suggested.

Dean was shivering slightly, so Sam covered his chest and abdomen with an extra blanket that Bob had brought back with the coffee.

"I'll use a bit of local again," Tara explained, freezing Dean's hip and both his knees.

"Feels weird," Dean slurred. His eyes had pretty much shut of their own accord and he was obviously drifting off again. Tara hoped that he would make it all the way because even with the local, it was going to hurt when she dug in to remove the deeply embedded bits of gravel.

Dean hissed at the first contact of the betadine that Tara used to wash the wounds, but he didn't quite wake up. He remained out of it for the first few extractions, but when Tara started digging for the deeper pieces, Dean couldn't stop the grunt that escaped. His flinching increased to the point that Tara was considering getting Sam to hold him down. Sweat beaded on Dean's face and then drops began to run down it.

Tara worked as quickly as she could, but Dean's shivering had increased to the point where his teeth were almost chattering by the time she was spreading antiseptic cream and fixing a piece of gauze over the wound on Dean's hip.

Bob appeared with another blanket and handed it to Sam. Sam positioned both blankets over Dean, covering all but his knees as Tara worked.

"So Sam? Can you at least tell me how your brother ended up in this state?" Tara was a master at distracting the "owner" from the patient while she worked. Some "owners" would get so freaked out it would set the "patient" off when otherwise the horse would have remained reasonably calm. Horses had an uncanny sense for when you were trying to help them.

"We stopped to help some guy who was broken down on the highway. Turns out he wasn't so broken down, and he and a few friends car-jacked us," Sam explained bitterly and his face flushed in anger and embarrassment at the memory.

"Damn. I'm sorry. They aren't the first, are they Bob?" Tara glanced up at their host.

"No. I'd heard a couple of other stories from some of the surrounding towns," Bob confirmed.

"Well that's just great," Sam was starting to get agitated. "Are the cops even doing anything about it?"

"We don't have a very big force out here. They're spread pretty thin," Bob explained.

"Hey," Dean's voice broke in, capturing Sam's attention instantly.

"Take it easy…. Not like we….we were able to stop 'em," Dean's voice was weak. "Calm down Sammy…"

"Dean? How are you doing?" Tara asked.

"Peachy," Dean tried for a smirk even as his eyes fluttered shut again.

Sam moved to wake him back up, but Tara stopped his hand.

"It's ok Sam. Let him sleep for the time being. I really don't have any painkillers I'm comfortable giving him. Bute is hard enough on an animal's stomach and banamine is a narcotic…"

Sam snorted. "Yeah. Dean'd enjoy that too much! At least he seems to remember what happened now…"

"He didn't before?" Tara looked concerned.

"No. Well and yes. He's been in and out of it. Just confused." Sam tried to explain.

"Just let him sleep. We'll wake him after I do the xray and see how he's doing. I do have antibiotics that I can leave. They're exactly the same as what your doctor would prescribe."

Turning to Dean's knees, Tara continued her conversation with Sam, careful to keep her voice soothing and neutral.

"What kind of car do you drive?"

"It's Dean's car. He hardly ever lets me drive," Sam said with fondness in his voice.

"Well, what kind of car does Dean have?" Tara was struck by how often Sam deflected a question.

"A '67 Chev. Impala. Black. It's Dean's baby." Sam said softly.

"Nice," Tara stated. "Hey… you guys were staying with the Jangers over in Sidney weren't you? Shame about old Mrs. Smithers, but probably a blessing in some ways. She was a strange old duck and then with the Alzeimer's… she'd become quite a lot for them to deal with."

"How'd you know that," Sam tried for nonchalant.

"You know small towns! And our practice is actually pretty widespread. I think I saw your car when you were at the Jangers. She's a beauty." Tara didn't even look up as she worked on Dean, and Sam's suspicions and concerns were dispelled. He was disappointed that Dean had missed Tara's admiration for his baby – and the fact that she'd called her a "her".

Once Tara finished picking the gravel from Dean's knees, covering those wounds with antibiotic cream and gauze, Tara grabbed Bob and headed to her truck for the xray equipment.

Sam covered Dean up completely. His brother looked like Hell. His one eye was swollen almost entirely shut now. He had bruises all over his face and a split lip. He was shaking and sweating. Sam laid a comforting hand on his brother's cheek. A gesture that conscious Dean would likely never allow but that unconscious, hurting Dean leaned into.

Bob and Tara came back in the room. Bob was carrying some large blue aprons and gloves and what looked like a square of wood. Tara had two large containers which she set about opening and unpacking. One contained a computer and the other the portable xray machine. Quickly fixing everyone up with a protective apron, including Dean, Tara positioned the wood under Dean's swollen wrist. Carefully holding the xray machine over Dean's wrist, she snapped a shot and then called up an amazingly clear image on the computer.

Dean slept through the entire procedure, only grunting a bit as Tara positioned his injured arm.

Sam couldn't help it. He was fascinated. He moved in close beside Tara as she studied the xray. She glanced sideways at Sam and a small smile tugged at her lips.

"Only the best for our four-footed friends," she said.

"It's just so clear," Sam breathed. "I don't think I've seen xrays at a hospital look this good."

"Yeah. It was worth every penny when we got it. And it's easy to store the data pretty much forever without taking up a lot of storage space or worrying about the images degrading."

"Um," Bob brought them back to the present. "So, how does Dean's wrist look?"

"Oh, right," Tara was all business again. "There is definitely a bit more than a sprain here." She pointed at what looked like a fine line on Dean's ulna.

"He's lucky. There is no chipping or displacement. It's really just a fine crack – not even technically a fracture. I can immobilize it for you, and he should be completely healed in a couple of weeks. I'd say it will take his ribs longer, so you can use those as a guideline. I get the feeling you know how to deal with most of these injuries, so I'm sure you know that it is important to get Dean up and moving around. He needs to keep breathing deeply to avoid pneumonia. Nobody wraps ribs anymore, so I won't do that."

Tara began packing up the xray equipment, and she and Bob took it back to her truck. Once again, Tara returned with further supplies.

"Can you get me some hot water?" Tara asked Bob, who nodded and moved into the bathroom, returning with a shallow basin.

Meanwhile Tara had unpacked the new supplies.

"This will act like a cast," she explained as she kneaded a silver package and then removed a cream coloured mesh material and dipped it in the hot water. "There's plaster in the material that is activated by the water."

Tara worked quickly and soon had Dean's hand and forearm coated in the material. As she waited for it to dry, she packed up the rest of her things. As soon as it was dry, she wrapped it in black vet wrap – a stretchy, water-resistant bandage that moulded to the "cast" to protect it. Then she turned to Sam and handed him a bottle of pills.

"This is apo-sulfatrim. An antibiotic. We get it from the same supplier as your doctor. He should have one pill every 12 hours for the next ten days. If he seems to be getting worse or anything still looks infected, you should see your regular vet," Tara laughed but turned sober again as she returned her attention to Dean.

Dean had remained unconscious throughout the splinting of his arm, but he was growing restless. His pale face made the fever flush on his cheeks stand out even more. He'd stopped shaking but sweat still beaded on his forehead.

"Keep giving him ibuprofen to bring down the fever and start him on the antibiotic as soon as possible. You should see an improvement in a few hours at most," Tara assured Sam softly as she turned back to him and smiled.

"Why are you helping us?" Sam couldn't stop himself. He knew that Tara could be in trouble on any number of levels and yet she showed no concern for herself, taking her time and focusing on making Dean as comfortable as possible and reassuring Sam.

"Shouldn't I?" She smiled and added, "Bob trusts you. That's good enough for me. Bob is an excellent judge of character. Horses not so much. But that's just because he's got such a big heart, he loves them all, even the good for nothing ones." Tara smiled at Bob as she spoke, obviously teasing.

Bob grunted and looked embarrassed.

"No horse is good for _nothing_," Bob asserted. "They're all good for _something_. Sometimes you just have to try a little harder to figure out what it is."

"Ss-mmy?" Dean slurred, capturing everyone's attention again as he struggled back to the land of the conscious.

"Hey, Dean. You with me buddy?" Sam eased himself down to perch on the side of the bed by his brother.

"Hmmm. Weird dream… You…k?" Dean was still struggling to open his good eye. It wasn't cooperating.

"I'm fine, Dean. As usual, you're the one who's not. Do you remember where we are?"

"Don't you?"

"Don't be a brat. Be serious, dude. You've got a pretty good concussion going on."

"That I believe. You wouldn't believe the party going on in here," Dean managed to wave his right hand weakly at his head and his left eye managed to crack open.

"Do you know where you are, Dean?" Tara asked.

"Hey Doc. Bob. At Bob's," Dean managed to move his gaze around the room. His stomach thought that a less than wise choice, however, and flipped alarmingly. Dean swallowed and closed his eye again.

"Dude! Stay with us for a minute or two ok?" Sam touched Dean's chest gently to ground him and prevent him from falling back to sleep.

Dean blinked and looked for his brother, needing to make sure he really was alright. Dean immediately noticed the blood that had dried under Sam's bangs – really only visible from Dean's angle.

"Hey Doc?"

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Do me a favour?"

"Another one?" Tara laughed.

"Check out my stubborn brother's head," Dean asked.

"What? I'm fine!" Sam sputtered.

"Fine heads don't bleed. Or so I'm told," Dean smirked.

Tara had already moved in for the kill, however, especially as sitting on the bed, Sam was within easy reach. She quickly reached out and brushed his bangs off his face, closely scrutinizing the gash on his head.

"It might have taken a stitch or two at the time, but at this point, you might as well just let me clean it up and let it heal on its own. Your hair will hide any potential scar."

Tara made short work of reaching back into her things and taking care of Sam's head.

"I'd better hit the road. I'm so late for that pre-purchase now, the client is going to string me up."

"Thank you for helping us," Sam offered, feeling how little it seemed like.

"Just another day at the office," Tara smiled.

"Thanks Doc," Dean managed from the bed.

"Take it easy, Dean. Call me if you think you need me," Tara said to Sam as she and Bob gathered up her equipment and headed out to her car.

Sam shook out one of the antibiotics and grabbed two more ibuprofen.

"Dean? I need you to take these."

"Doubt they'll stay down."  
"Try?" Sam sighed.

"'K," Dean huffed.

Giving the pills to Dean who popped them in his mouth, Sam grabbed the water glass and raised Dean's shoulders enough to be able to drink without choking.

He almost choked anyway because he tried to reach for the glass with his left hand and suddenly discovered his new cast.

"Dude? What the hell?" Dean sputtered.

"Hairline fracture. You're just gonna have to deal for a few weeks…"

Dean just groaned softly and sank back into the bed.

Sam sank back down beside him, running his hand over his face and through his hair.

"Do you think we can trust them?" Sam asked.

"Not like we have a lot of options at the moment," Dean sighed as his eyes slid shut again.

"Yeah."

"Sorry Sammy."

"For what?" Sam turned his gaze to his brother's face. Even with the bruising and swelling, Sam was dismayed to see guilt and shame flicker across his brother's face.

"'s my fault. Let 'em get the car 'n now 'm laid up…" Dean was fading.

"Dean, this is so not your fault," Sam hissed.

Dean grunted back and turned his head away from Sam.

"Get some rest, bro," Sam directed. He hoped that most of Dean's misplaced feelings were a result of the concussion.

Sam acknowledged to himself that Dean was right about one thing. They were going to have to place their lives in Bob's hands. For the time being anyway, they were out of options.

* * *

**A/N3:** I hope this isn't too disappointing. My life sucks so bad right now, I'd trade with Dean – before Castiel saved him…. All the vet/horse stuff is true and based on my own personal experiences… should be one or possibly two more chapters…. No promises to when I will be able to get to them. Again my thanks to those who have reviewed, alerted and read. My apologies for not posting sooner. I know that I suck. And no. I'm not fine with that, but I've decided to at least acknowledge that I am a lame loser... posting now before I get too maudlin...


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